


A Pharaoh's Second Opinion

by goldenteaset



Series: Fate Week 2021 [5]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, During Canon, Foiled Confessions, Hot Springs & Onsen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28761540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: During Setsubun, Sanson is faced with not only his own feelings, but Ozymandias' as well.
Relationships: Charles-Henri Sanson | Assassin/Ozymandias | Rider
Series: Fate Week 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101584
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16
Collections: Fate Week 2021 Fic Collection





	A Pharaoh's Second Opinion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fate Week, Day 5: "History and Myth"! (In a manner of speaking, you could call this "Sanson and Ozymandias' complicated history in my headcanons coming to the fore".) One day their UST will become resolved; Sanson just needs to get over his shyness first.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own FGO.

“Well,” Sanson says quietly, closing the sliding door behind him, “I’m back.”

Surprisingly, for once no-one else is soaking in the hot spring Tomoe Gozen made when they arrived. It’s just him, the bubbling mountain spring, and the steam swirling up into the sky overwhelmed by the mysterious 100-story tower his Master has been trying to scale since they arrived here. (Perhaps today, they’ll reach 50F.)

Merely thinking about fighting again makes Sanson ache. _If I have an hour or so to soak, I should do so sooner rather than later._ Adjusting the towel around his waist, he carefully steps from the wooden porch already smoothed by countless feet and into the luxuriously-hot water, his toes curling with delight at the sensation. With a soft sigh he submerges himself bit by bit. _When we first arrived, I thought this heat would boil us. But now…aaaah._ It’s as if his sore muscles are being massaged by the gently-flowing water itself.

A gentle breeze flows through the bamboo stalks. Birds chirp and flutter overhead. Everything is wrapped in serenity…

…Which means trouble will arrive any moment now.

“ _I have returned_!” Ozymandias, the King of Kings, bellows loud enough to wake the dead and scare them out of ever sleeping again.

“Welcome back,” Sanson replies, too comfortable to be annoyed at him. “Please, come rest.”

Ozymandias beams, paying no heed to the precarious state of his towel. “Thank you, Physician!” Contrary to what one might expect, he takes care in not disturbing the water as he slips into the spring. “Ah…what a magnificent sensation. Especially after all these skirmishes!”

“Indeed.” Sanson blinks as Ozymandias wades toward him, his strong shoulders peeking up through the water like the stones that surround them. “Er…Pharaoh, there is plenty of room…”

“Certainly! But your voice is so soft, and I would hear you properly.” Gold eyes as brilliant as the sun itself pierce through the hazy steam, their gaze unwavering. “Does that bother you?”

“N-Not at all.” It’s the truth, stated plainly. And yet…there _is_ something strange about seeing Ozymandias this way.

Which is troubling. Ozymandias strolls on and off the battlefield wearing a mantle, calves-bearing silk trousers of dark silk, scarab-like ornamentation to cover his sides and little else every day, and soon Sanson barely registered it. Two years to acclimate helped. But here, with Ozymandias flushed red with the heat, and Sanson close enough to see the slow fluttering of his thick, kohl-dark eyelashes…well.

It’s one thing to know that someone is beautiful, but quite another to be the sole witness to it. This has happened countless times now, and _still_ it stops his breath.

As if to remind him that physical beauty isn’t the Pharaoh’s only grace, Ozymandias frowns at Sanson’s arm and holds it up for inspection. Bruises like constellations mar the bone-pale skin. “As I feared. Yet again, you refused to heal yourself!”

“Of course not. You took priority.”

“And what was I to do if you collapsed from exhaustion? Stare at the wall until you recovered?” He scoffs with well-honed disdain. “No! By order of the Pharaoh, next time you _will_ —”

“—I obey only one ruler,” Sanson snaps, and struggles to rein in his temper before it gallops out of his control. This is hardly the first time they’ve had this argument, but it grates far more in a place meant for healing.

Ozymandias irritably shoves his dark bangs out of his eyes, his fingers tensed ready to tear out some strands. “That is acceptable. _However_ …I believe your Queen would concur with me.” A low chuckle. “In fact…”

Sanson groans in embarrassment at the boyish mischief blooming on Ozymandias’ face. He knows what’s to come. The hot springs are truly a blessing and curse all in one.

Ozymandias cups his hands over his mouth and calls out “Queen of France! Forgive the King of Kings for interrupting your bath, but I have a question of great importance to ask you!”

“Yes?” Marie chirps. Judging by the splashes that fill the air, she’s crossing the women’s bath to hear better.

In accordance with her new closeness, Ozymandias lowers his voice slightly. “Thank you! Now. Concerning your Physician, Charles-Henri Sanson—in battle, do you feel he should heal himself as well as others?”

“Of course!” Marie’s pout is practically visible from her tone. “Did he refuse to look after himself _again_?”

Sanson lunges for Ozymandias, clapping a wet hand over his mouth before he can seal his fate. His smug smile tickles Sanson’s palm. “I assure you, I’ve learned my lesson this time,” Sanson replies hastily. And then coughs, because he isn’t used to raising his voice like that and his throat strains to cooperate.

“Oh dear, you really _are_ unwell. Please stay in the hot springs as long as you need, Sanson!”

Sanson’s heart swells with joy at those kind words—and while he’s distracted, Ozymandias pries his hand away from his mouth.

“There, you see? On occasion even _you_ require a ‘second opinion’.”

“…Heh. You waited months to say that, didn’t you.”

“Of course! And it was worth it for your reaction.” Ozymandias glances up as the sliding door opens. “Come in, I shall permit it!”

“Ah, it’s Sanson’s eccentric friend!” Mozart cries merrily, thus ensuring that Sanson’s relaxing bath will never occur. “His _only_ friend, rather. I wonder how he managed it…?”

“Yes, well.” Ozymandias sidles in front of Sanson, shooting him a surprisingly understanding expression over his shoulder. “The Physician is away at the moment. Duty calls for everyone—even for you!”

“Humph. I suppose so…but I would rather entertain Master than see her fight for her life.” A dramatic sigh fit for the stage. “But that foolish Chopper…he doesn’t seem to care one way or another.”

Sanson ducks down further as Mozart splashes into the water, going so far as to clasp his hands together in furtive prayer.

“I somehow doubt that. And as I am the King of Kings, my opinion is of more consequence than yours!”

Mozart laughs abrasively. “Well, if you insist! But why _do_ you ‘somehow doubt that’, anyway?”

The firm muscles of Ozymandias’ back ripple as he sets a hand on his hip and thinks. Sanson is close enough to ghost a breath along the smooth curve of his spine. If he wished. Which he doesn’t.

He _doesn’t._

“That Physician is a man who never shirks from duty in life or death—even when that duty is painful. But more importantly, if he can ensure someone under his care will feel no pain, then that is more important still. He swore to fight by Master’s side, and in doing so he will spare her gentle heart from loss.” Something bittersweet creeps into his voice. “In other words: he is playing his part admirably!”

The only sound is the burble of the hot spring and the lapping water.

Sanson is glad to be hidden behind Ozymandias now. If he were out in the open, what could he possibly say to such praise? Even _hearing_ it feels too intense, too private. The words flow ceaselessly through his mind, looping like a warped recording. His heart feels trapped in his chest. 

“Hmm…I see. _Well._ ” Mozart laughs again, the tone unexpectedly gentle. “I hope ‘that Physician’ appreciates those fine words one day!”

Sanson’s heart leaps into his throat. _Of course a pervert like him would know—!_

And so, he does the one thing he _can_ do in this mortifying situation: he dives under the frothing water and swims for the exit.

Even with the warm, murky mist over his eyes, his legs kick briskly enough and his arms force their way through the currents enough to get him to his destination in record time. He comes up for air, and it feels sweet in his lungs as he sucks it in.

“Physician, wait! _Wait_ , I said—”

But Sanson can’t wait. Struggling to maintain his usual composure, he forces his feet to walk at a steady pace as he materializes his usual attire and leaves for battle once again. Already he’s formulating a reason for being out early—his Master will believe him regardless, because he is always honest. No matter _what_ that perverted pianist might say.

And if Ozymandias follows him...well, that is a problem for a later date. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated.


End file.
